Semper Tua
by Melodic Flow
Summary: The consequences of binding herself to a pureblood were more than Ginny Weasley ever bargained for, especially when her life was forfeit. After all, no one could have expected that Draco Malfoy would fall in love.


**Author's note: I decided to start my own story. The details will be given later, as this is only a prologue after all. Nevertheless, please continue reading! I am off!**

**Disclaimer: I am but a dreamer, and I don't own the characters, nor the story of Harry Potter. But if J.K. Rowling would be so glad as to give me Draco, who am I to refuse?**

* * *

**Semper Tua**

Prologue

_there is an armor here, within me_

_it is what i would never want you to see_

Every breath, a little more.

It was all a blur. As the spells – in brilliant colors of green and red – collided before their eyes, there wasn't much anyone could have done but wait with baited breaths of dread and sick anticipation for the dark lord's downfall, because there was no way – _no way_ at all that the boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, would die in his moment of glory.

A slight tremble shook the ground, and Voldemort fell.

Harry Potter followed soon after.

The two seconds of Harry Potter's fall seemed much longer in most everyone's eyes. They could see with clarity and unexpected accuracy how his left leg first gave way, twisting in an odd angle, before his body followed through with the collapse. There were no words from his mouth – not a laugh, nor a cry. He just fell down, as if he were a puppet whose strings were cut off, and that was that.

"Bloody hell," someone whispered, words piercing through the heavy silence.

Everyone, including the professors and the adults close to Harry, could not find the courage they were using for the fight earlier, to move any closer than a few steps to the boy-who-lived. They felt that they couldn't and they shouldn't, because everything was so surreal, because it was impossible, because they all hailed him as their savior, because they'd loved him although they'd never known him – not like those two people who were with Harry now, by his side, as they have always been.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

In the middle of the circle they had formed, there was the Golden Trio, in all their glory.

In the silence of it all, Ron screamed.

No one would ever forget that sound. It was agony – pure anguish coiled into vibrations that reverberated throughout the room. It was haunting. It was raw. It was in that moment everyone had taken a glimpse into their lives, how they had traversed through obstacle after obstacle, through hell and back, all the while holding each other's hands – each other's lives – possibly even more precious than their own.

And everyone began to move.

"Mr. Potter, what – "

"Get out of the way!"

"Blimey. Who would have thought – "

"The killing curse – it was that, it was – "

"Harry – Harry, no, Merlin."

"Scoot over, I said – "

And everyone was crying, and Ron was still screaming, and Hermione was trembling, and Ginny Weasley was running – running – running to the boy who held her heart in his hands that weren't moving anymore.

"R – Ron, brother, step aside," she exhaled, kneeling beside Harry. "Hermione, do – do whatever you can, so that no one would see – or rather, block us out, I don't care."

"Ginny, what are you – "

But Ginny was no longer paying attention to them. Instead, she was looking through the crowd with determined, teary eyes, her body quivering, her hair as fiery a red as ever. She stood up and absently tapped Hermione on the shoulder to remind her of what she asked her to do, before fixing her solemn eyes on the form of Draco Malfoy, looking quite shaken just a few steps away. Hermione started to do the spell, with Ron quite clearly telling everyone to back the bloody hell of or he would blast their asses into space, after having recovered slightly from his breakdown.

"I don't quite know what – what's going to happen, but everyone, please bear with us," Hermione whispered.

Ginny didn't utter a single word, didn't exactly need to – because Draco somehow knew. Shivering slightly, he disentangled himself from his mother's arms, and after a quick 'do what you have to do' from his father, he stood beside Ginny, just to the left of Harry. He didn't know what quite possessed him to stand, didn't even know if his assumption that whatever the Weasley girl needed him for involved saving Potter's arse from death, and for that matter, didn't even know why he was willing to take part in this if that were so the case, but seeing Potter lying on the ground in Granger's arms as if to never wake up again was oddly unsettling. It wasn't supposed to be that way.

With Hermione's spell in place, rendering the noise from the rest of the crowd unheard, Ginny knelt on the ground, dragging Malfoy beside her. Hermione still held Harry in her arms, while Ron stood behind her, breathing heavily, more unhinged and vulnerable than the rest of them.

"Did you check for a pulse?" Ginny asked.

"Yes – but he – he wasn't breathing – " Hermione stopped, placing her hands to his neck, her ear on his chest. A few seconds have passed, and everyone's dread grew deeper with each passing second, but Hermione held on, hoping, praying for that tiny trace of life that Harry could give.

And it was there – something faint, something weak – and Hermione didn't want to think she'd imagined it, couldn't bear to think it, couldn't even stand the thought that it would be the last.

"There is, but – "

"That's – that's good enough, I guess."

Ginny looked at Hermione then, how unlike herself she was acting – because the Hermione she knew was strong and self-assured. She knew what to do and what had to be done during the right time. And now she just looks so afraid, so very sad.

_Quite like me. _

Ginny then began to murmur words or spells that not one of them understood, not even Ginny herself. While doing so her wand began to light up – a soft golden light just at the tip – and she traced patterns upon patterns on Harry's palms, on his chest, and on his forehead.

She stopped then, to take a breath. The patterns she drew glowed green upon Harry's skin, burning brighter and brighter as if on fire.

"Are you scared?" She whispered. "Don't worry Malfoy, I wouldn't ask this at all if anything would happen to you, no matter how much of a bloody git you are. Maybe. "

"Obviously I know, Weasley. Why do you think I agreed without even asking for the pertinent details? Unlike most people, I do happen to have a brain," Malfoy replied, although there wasn't much emotion to his voice at all.

"But what about you, Gin?" Ron whispered, slowly. "As much as I lo – as I love Harry, I wouldn't want you to – I'd never, I mean – "

"It's nothing I can't handle, Ron," she smiled at him, refusing to look at Hermione, her piercing gaze making her feel strangely vulnerable.

"I'm trusting you here, Ginny," Hermione said.

"Thank you."

She then proceeded with her incantation, this time moving the tip of her wand to trace patterns on Malfoy's wrist, before lightly following a protruding vein along his arm and to his heart.

"Make sure you drink my blood, Malfoy. It shouldn't be a problem for you, I am a pureblood after all. Harry should begin breathing again, although it might be a bit weak." She looked at all of them in the eye, then. "Do me a favor, will you? Slap him once, if only to remind him of his idiocy. And never tell him anything. " She moved a bit closer to Malfoy, telling herself to breathe. She hoped they didn't notice her uncertainty, her fear, because if anyone could do this – it was her. Harry's life was in her hands now. They needed him. She forcefully bit her own tongue to stop herself from trembling, eager to remind her body of acute pain to push away all her fears.

Malfoy felt her looking at him then, and he, in turn, could not look away. Something in her eyes was terribly sad, and he just couldn't look away.

"I really don't like you," she whispered to him, smiling a bitter smile.

"The feeling's mutual," he bit out.

She held her left wrist to his face then, and not once did she break eye contact with him. Her eyes were on his as his were on her, and she moved, gracefully, unerringly, to position her wand, pointing just on the edge of her left palm.

"_Sectumsempra_," Ginny murmured, and slashed the wand along her wrist.

With eyes still on hers, mutual dislike serving as fuel to the fire between them, his tongue darted out along her skin, tasting everything there – from the iron in her blood, the fine taste of a pureblood wizard, to the exhaustion and determination and power that she held within.

She smirked at him, and only then did he notice the blood coming from her mouth, before promptly passing out.

"Ginny!" Her brother gasped.

The spell blocking them from view began to crumble, as the three of them were held immobile in their places. Panicked voices began to filter in through the numbness, and everyone could only stare at them, blood on their clothes, Hermione not moving, Ron shaking Ginny's prone form on Malfoy's lap, Malfoy's skin glowing with the residue of a powerful magic, and brighter than him was Ginny, who lay unmoving, although the blood had stopped from coming out.

In the silence of it all, someone coughed.

And they all could only ever stare in shocked wonder as the boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, who for a few moments ago was certainly _dead _– began to breathe again.

But at what cost?

* * *

**Author's note: **I would love to hear what all of you think. And I really appreciate constructive criticism. I don't have a beta either, so please forgive any spelling mistakes or other grammatical errors. I really would like to hear what you think of this story, and any theories, if any! Thank you for reading!


End file.
